Sleep
by s'cfanin
Summary: Christian and Syed watch each other sleep...


_Christian and Syed watch each other sleep…_

_One-shot. I don't own them two, BBC does._

_Please review/tell me what to do better! It helps my writing._

**cScScScScSc**

**Syed**

"… so I told him to stuff this idea right away… didn't go down too well, and now he's refusing to make another appointment. Not that I mind. We can live without his sixteen pence of a tip anyway, eh, Christian? Christian… are you even listening to… oh…"

Turning around at the kitchen counter, I see Christian lying flat on his back on the couch, mouth open, eyes shut, chest heaving and sinking in a steady rhythm.

For a second I'm mad at him for letting me talk to myself like a silly nutter. What is he sleeping for anyway? It's not even three in the afternoon. Then I remember, and can hardly suppress a smirk. Going to bed around eleven p.m. because "Clients all morning, Sy!" but actually going to _sleep_ around two in the morning… and then jumping out of bed at 7.30 again to work out his already uber-fit clients till lunchtime… no wonder he's knackered.

He likes me to think of him as super-Christian who can and will all night long and the day, too. Well… he can be sometimes… but even super-Christian needs a bit of sleep every now and then.

Sighing, I decide to use the Christian-free time to go through some paperwork for my… our business. Christian became my partner in selling memorabilia for the Olympics a week ago, since I hardly can do all the work on my own.

Now all the papers have to be changed, from _Amira Masood_ to _Christian Clarke_, a procedure I didn't tell Christian too much about. I don't need to hear anymore Amira-bashing from him.

She's still a friend, she's still the mother of the only kid I'll probably ever have. Instead of being grateful that she finally signed the divorce papers, Christian still acts like a child when it comes to Amira.

He says he knows he has no reason to be jealous anymore – of course he hasn't – but jealousy doesn't stop at the fact of Amira trying to shove me back into the closet. Christian simply doesn't understand how on earth I can be _friends_ with her. And when I mention my daughter and the – not just mine but _our_ – right to see Yasmin growing up, he's out of arguments, just sighs sadly and says "I know, Sy… I'll just can't forgive _her_, that's all."

I know that's not the only reason. He'd never admit it but he hates the fact that I'm a dad while he isn't. I never asked him about it, mainly because I know it's useless. We'd argue for days about it, and heaven knows where that would lead us to.

Thinking about that all is useless, too, so I continue with highlighting the points-to-be-changed in every contract or order I can find. Not to mention the 30-pages strong business agreement between Amira and me.

When I arrive at page four my gaze slowly start to drift away from my important boring task; first to the telly in the corner of the room – out of habit and useless since it's turned off – then to my sleeping fiancé on the sofa, where it stays for a while.

He's still lying on his back, only now his mouth is closed. Somehow he managed to grab one of the pillows from the edge of the sofa in his sleep and is now clutching it to his chest, arms tightly slung around it in a protective manner. He sometimes holds me like this when I'm down. Maybe he's dreaming about me? According to the small smile playing around his lips, he is…

It still amazes me, after all this time… I'll probably never fully understand what makes him so drawn to me. The old saying of 'He can have everyone' comes to mind. Well, he _did_ _have_ everyone, and yet…

Of course, he's not twenty anymore, and settling down is important for him. Well, he almost did, once, with this Ash guy. "Just for the money, Sy!" I never really believed that. Christian isn't someone who'd do everything just to get the big cash. And then there was Jane's husband. David. That's more Christian's style, falling in love with the most inappropriate blokes. Straight, married, Muslim; he takes it all.

I have to grin at that thought. No. He didn't choose any of that, as much as I didn't choose to abandon my family for him.

I nearly jump from my seat when I hear faint mumbling coming from the sofa, disturbing the silence of our flat. He's talking in his sleep. Man, he must be dead tired… he last did this after one of his famous party nights with Roxy and the following day working like a bullet (the last part mostly because I banned him from the flat – no chance for him to cure his hangover/get some sleep/make up with me since he knows I hate him drinking all night but decided to do it anyway).

The following night it was me getting no sleep. He slept like a stone the minute his head touched the pillow but after ten minutes he started mumbling, and then mumbling turned into talking (though I didn't understand a single word). The next morning I decided to never punish Christian with sleep deprivation again. Ever.

I can't concentrate on my task when Christian's bubbling away over there, so I stack my paperwork into an unruly pile, walk over to the kitchen and switch the kettle on.

While sorting out two cups, sugar and milk, I find myself casting a glance over to the sofa every now and then. It's really getting boring without Christian entertaining me. Apart from the fact that we only had lunch together to plan the afternoon, which is getting nearer and nearer and, by the looks of it, will be over when he finally decides to wake up. We didn't have any specific plans but still… doing nothing is always nicer with him than alone.

A sudden thought strikes my mind, and I start to jump over to the sofa but at that moment the kettle shuts itself off, announcing to be ready for tea. So I pour the hot water into the cups, add the necessary ingredients (two sugar no milk for Christian, one sugar and a lot of milk for me) and make my way over to Christian who meanwhile went back into silent mode, thank god.

I could take a seat in the armchair, nip my tea and enjoy the boring silence while watching Christian sleep for hours and hours. But as much as I like the last part (the only chance to watch him properly without having him humping me after three seconds), I have to try and squeeze myself next to him on the sofa, tea slopping dangerously in the cup.

I can't risk him keeping me awake tonight only because he's bursting with energy and on high speed. I've got too much on my diary for tomorrow to spend the day like Zombie Nation, with aching limbs and love bites all over me.

"Hey… hey, sleepy head… come on, wake up; made you a cuppa."

I rub Christian's chest slightly to wake him up, and with a little groan he finally opens his eyes and looks around dumbfounded till he detects me sitting next to him.

"Wha… Sy, you're… oh, hey, did I fell asleep? Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"I know, Christian… come on, up now!"

It takes a bit but in the end Christian sits upright next to me, our shoulders touching, and holding his cup in both hands.

I can hardly turn my eyes from his after-sleeping state, all red cheeks and flustered hair. I love to watch him like that; whenever I get the chance to since it's mostly Christian who's up and about in the morning while I'm still in dreamland. And even if it's me who's up first, watching him sleep while preparing breakfast or tidying up the living room is not as easy as it used to be since the bedroom is now separated from the rest of the flat.

Christian suddenly notices me staring at him, and within a blink of an eye he turns from just-out-of-sleep to Mr-Sexytime himself; putting the cup onto the side table, giving me a seductive smile, and bending over to me till our lips meet. And though I just wanted a quiet afternoon in (fully clothed and most of the time in an upright position), I suddenly don't mind his passionate kisses, warm hands and whispered sweet nothings. Not at all.

I should really watch him sleep more often.

**cScScScScSc**

**Christian**

… _briep briep briep briep briep briep briep…_

Oh please, good grief, no… it can't already be morning again… we just went to bed a minute ago…

I hit the snooze button without opening my eyes. I nearly miss it, and the pain in my hand tells me it really _is_ morning.

Damn. I hate the sound of the alarm clock. I hate mornings. I hate waking up. Damn damn damn!

Clutching my hand to my chest and rubbing away the pain, I decide to open my eyes to set the alarm clock to Sy's time in about half an hour. There's not too much point in that since he always wakes up before the alarm goes off (how the freakin' hell does he do that?) but I'm doing it anyway.

Thinking about Sy changes my mood almost instantly, and a quick glance to the left side of the bed makes my mood swooshing through the roof. Like always he's sleeping bare-chested, the blanket shoved down during sleep; a sight I can't resist. Nearly. Don't wanna wake him up, so I stop my hand just inches from his soft dark chest hair.

He looks like a happy little puppy when he's sleeping. Waking him up now would only turn him into one of these Greek thingies, furies or whatever they're called. He'll be mad at me for days and refuse to let me have any. Something I can't risk.

Putting my head back onto the pillow, I decide to let Jill, my 8 a.m. client, waiting a bit this morning. It's been a while since I got the chance to watch my Sy sleeping. Mostly it's me having to start the day early (which normally means me sleeping over and jumping out of bed without taking a second glance at him.) When I get the chance to sleep in (a seldom event) Sy's already up, does his prayers and gets breakfast ready before I can even open my eyes to face the day.

When I turn my head back in his direction I see nothing but hair. Sy's black locks are spread all over the pillow, with his face somewhere in between there. God, how I love his hair! Well… as if there's anything about him I don't love… hair, hands, mouth, eyes… gosh, his eyes… sparkling dark from lust; mischievously light with joy; or glistening wet in times of despair, wrenching my heart in my chest till I can't help but cry with him.

Still, his hair really is one of a kind. Just one or two weeks, and we'll start arguing about it again. He doesn't like if it gets too long, and gets a cut without asking me. "I can do whatever I want with my hair, Christian!" No, he can't. I can only imagine how he would complain if I'd suddenly lose my guns!

While I watch him, Sy turns around in his sleep, turning the back of his head and his spine to me. The blanket covers most of his back and arse but luckily I have a good memory of them, especially the latter one.

Fuck. Now I want him.

I can't help it. It's not my fault that the thin blanket snugs tightly around some really nice curves of his!

Carefully, I slide nearer to Sy's backside, slowly shove my arms under and around him and rest my nose in his hair, inhaling the sexy mix of his natural sleep odour and his uber-expensive peach shampoo. I know from experience that this won't wake him up, as long as I don't start humping him from behind (I'd really love to but I know I'd live to regret it).

I still wonder sometimes how on earth we managed to end up here; together in one bed in peace and harmony, in our flat, dreaming about a big fat gay wedding… well, at least me. For Sy it would be enough to take half a day off for the trip to the registrar and back. Bloody dork, I'm having none of that!

I never was one of those creepy people with folders full of seating plans, pictures of wedding cakes and dream locations for the wedding of the century. I mean, what for? Before I met Sy I never wasted a thought about getting hitched. It would only mean a brutal cut to my party life. Sometimes I even got nervous at the prospect of spending two nights in a row with the same guy. I always was the classic case of commitment-phobic gay, and never had a problem with it.

Then the thing with Ash happened. He was the epitome of a gentleman, and he looked at me as if I was the only bloke in the world. How could I resist his relentless flirting? And his money to invest in drinks and party pills just was the icing on the cake.

I make a mental note to thank Jane the next time I speak to her. Our fight about David, and Ash leaving me in the process saved my ass. I thought I could marry someone for security. Ash adorned me, and it felt good to be wanted by someone of his format; upper class instead of drunk horny party folk. I didn't love him, only what he represented. Jane literally saved me many self-destructive years.

Sy, though… I don't have any doubts about marrying him whatsoever. Never had. Never will. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, and after all we've been through it's probably the only sensible way for telling each other and the world that we'll never surrender, no matter what.

I'm no fool. I know not all is well just because we're walking down the aisle and show of a set of rings afterwards. If I learned something from all the chaos we used to call a relationship, it's that.

Still. When I'm holding Sy in my arms like this, I only have one thought, over and over: I love him. And I can't remember if there ever was a guy I thought that about in honesty. No. There never was.

Losing him, back in November, broke my heart right in the middle with brutal force. I know, I was the one leaving, and I still think that it was the only way to keep my love for him in my heart instead of losing it in the process of fighting against Ben, Phil, Amira… and everyone else Sy decided to believe more than me. Still, I couldn't sleep a wink for the first weeks; ate crappy food since every good and decent meal only remembered me about every peaceful breakfast, lunch or dinner I ever had with Sy; and threw myself into the arms and bodies of every Spanish guy available, a fact which I'm more than sorry about.

I tried my best to make it clear (more to myself than to him) that it really is over and out between the two of us when I came back. Finding him in the thick of a faked marriage _again_ proved me right. He apparently moved on (in his case this means moving backwards, but whatever), so I could as well. Only I couldn't cause none of that was real.

It took me a while to realize it, but he fought Amira. He fought her attempts of luring him back into the closet; he fought her attempts of talking me down; he fought her attempts of using Yasmin as a guilt trip. This must have broken his heart since his daughter is the most precious thing to him, but in the end he knew no one is ever going to be happy in this sick set-up of a family life.

At the thought of our final make up (and what a make up it was!), I'd now love to kiss Sy's neck till he wakes up and let me kiss some other parts of him, but he's suddenly stirring in my arms, slide away from me while shoving his head deeper into the pillow and clutching his arms to his chest as if freezing. He isn't, it's our normal sleeping temperature in the room.

Having two years experience in sleeping next to him I know that Sy's one hell of a _tosser and turner_. Made me mad in the beginning, and he tried to tune it down a bit for me. With the result of him being moody for days since it took him ages to get asleep while lying only in one position. Which shouldn't have been a problem since as soon as he _was_ asleep, he started exercises like a freaking aerobics master, shaking the whole bed and waking me up in the process.

In the end I got used to Sy's sleeping movements since him being moody is nothing I want to be faced every morning. And whenever he wants to shake the bed, he now simply asks me.

Mmh… talking about shaking the bed…

Though pulling away from me, Sy's neck is still reachable, delectable, lickable, and I'm way too horny to not risk it.

One… two… three careful kisses down his neck… making my boy sigh in contentment, giving me the boost to continue with a few sloppy kisses down his spine until I reach the dangerous area of his back which is covered by the blanket. For now.

"Christian…"

My name in a little seductive warning tone makes me stop at the rim of the darn blanket, a second later my mouth makes his way up and back to his neck, now open mouthed and hot breathed.

"Mmmh… morning… birthday boy… got you a little… present…"

"Hmm… wonder what that wmmpf…"

His wonderment drowns in a three-minute birthday tongue fight when suddenly…

… _briep briep briep briep briep briep…_

"Shit! Jill's waiting!"

"Let her wait… wanna open my present first…"

God… wish it was Sy's birthday every day…


End file.
